A Historic Walk with Kipling and Others, Interviewing a Legend and Feeling Fortunate to Still Be Alive

Thursday, March 14, 2019

Bombay

A Historic Walk with Kipling and Others, Interviewing a Legend and Feeling Fortunate to Still Be Alive

Namaste from Bombay!

I had a capital day! But, by the end of it, I felt fortunate to still be alive and kicking. No spoilers, however...you will need to read to the end to find out what I mean.

So, I awoke much later than usual. Birds were actually singing lustily by the time I opened my eyes today—at all of 6.30 am! Knowing that my first appointment was only at 4.30 pm and since I have decided to give my bashed knee a break for the week, I skipped the gym. Hence, I breakfasted on muesli and coffee and spent much of the morning trying to find someone in the city I could interview either in the morning or the afternoon—-so that I could  make full use of my day.

But no such luck.  No one was available to see me at the last minute.  After all my efforts, I only managed to schedule two interviews going forward.   The funny part was trying to get an appointment with a Parsi actress who told me that she was not able to leave her house because her dogs miss her too much, bark too much and annoy her neighbors. So I asked if I could meet her at her place and she said, her dogs get disturbed by the presence of strangers, bark too much and annoy her neighbors! My God! Dog-lover though I am, if     I had dogs like that...seriously... I would..

I decided then, on impulse, to do another walk from my book Ten Heritage Walks in Bombay. Although I pride myself on knowing the city of my birth really well, there are still some bits of it that I have actually never ventured into and some bits of it that I have not ventured into for decades. The Ballard Pier area is one such...but today, I decided that I would cover just one single stretch from Flora Fountain to Crawford Market along Sir Pherozeshah Mehta Road. 

I had an early lunch (spinach, meatball curry and dal), had a quick shower and set out. Since I was heading to Victoria Terminus, I bought a single first class ticket on the Harbor Line which took me from Bandra to VT (instead of the terminus at Churchgate).  Since I took the train at about 12. 45 in the morning, it was empty and very pleasant and I promptly had a nap on the 20 minute run to the city after I got bored watching a group of male commuters stand in the vestibule and play cards!

At VT Station:

Once I got to VT, I had a chance to admire its beautiful bones—so similar to those of Paddington or Victoria in London.  It amazes me—the similarity of British Victorian engineering all around the world—so astonishing! Once I got out of the station, I was on Sir P.M.Road and needed to get to the other side—the one that runs along The Times of India Building. But I found that a great big island has been built in the center of the road to divide the two sides of the dual carriage way. Hence, I looked for a way to get across and saw that there was a Foot Over Bridge just a few steps from me but that I would need to return to the station platform in order to climb it.

On the Foot Over Bridge:

And that was exactly what I did! I climbed the stairs, was on the bridge high up  in the middle of the broad road. I was afforded amazing views of the road below stretching on one side towards Flora Fountain and on the other side to Crawford Market. I also noticed that the towering domes on the Indo-Saracenic heritage buildings that the British so lovingly constructed for us in this jeweled city in their crown were so magnificently magnified in size when I took pictures from the height of the bridge.  Also, at that time of the day (1.30 pm), the bridge was quite open as the peak hour rush that probably brings thousands of people on to it were missing. 

I must have been on that bridge for about ten minutes at least as I moved from one side of it to the next composing my pictures. When I was done, I climbed down on the other side.

In the Premises of the Anjuman-e-Islam School:

I knew I would not be allowed inside The Times of India Building as security is tight (and I had surveyed the Bombay Municipal Corporation Building quite well previously)—so I made my way to the Indo-Saracenic building that houses the Anjuman-e-Islam School. Inside the compound, I stopped to discover that it was designed by British architect John Adams and constructed in 1893. Because the premises are in private hands, the building and its compound are in immaculate condition.  It heartens me to see how much these private institutions value these heritage properties and how lovingly they are looked after.

In the long Hall, there was a Nutri Fair in progress.  This long Hall had a purdah gallery constructed for the first Muslim women to receive an education in Bombay at the end of the 19th century. Current female students of the School of Catering and Hotel Management had risen to the challenge set to them to create tasty sweet and savory treats using only healthy ingredients. Were I not watching my calories, I would have enjoyed  sampling their wares that included brownies, chocolates, chips, etc. made with beetroot, dates, jaggery, rye and whole wheat flours, etc. The girls were also just lovely to talk to—they are young Muslim gals with so much potential (and so much physical beauty).  Enjoyed chatting with them. They were disappointed that I refused their nibbles...but I wished them well and departed.

The Premises of the Sir J.J. School of Art and Architecture:

I had heard for ages about the fact that the first Principal of the Sir J.J. School of Arts and Architecture (named after Sir Jamshedji Jijibhoy, the 19th century Parsi millionaire and philanthropist) was John Lockwood Kipling.  If that name sounds familiar to you, it is because his son, the novelist and poet of “If”, Rudyard Kipling, was born in this compound. I do not know how far it is true that Kipling wrote The Jungle Book in this place—but I have yet to ascertain that fact. Suffice it to say that despite knowing this, I had never been in these premises. This is a major stop on a literary tour of Bombay and I am stunned that I have never been here. 

Still, it is never too late...and on surveying these premises, there was so much that fascinated me. 

First of all, the premises are huge. They are filled with glorious old established tropical trees such as banyan and laburnum and flame of the forest. Secondly, they are also filled with black stone structures, designed by Lockwood Kipling, that are embellished with stone porticoes that jut out and arched window and door tracery. These buildings house the different branches of the Fine Arts from Painting and Sculpture to Metalwork and Interior Design.  It is still the premier institution for the study of Fine Arts in Bombay and attracts only the most talented students. Among its illustrious alumni are M.V. Dhurandar (whose retrospective exhibition I was fortunate to catch at the beginning of my Fulbright stay in Bombay) and my own friend Siona Benjamin, a contemporary, who is now a very well-renowned artist in the USA—we grew up together as neighbors in Bombay. 

The first thing I did was saunter around the beautifully shaded property under the gorgeous trees that were punctuated by all manner of small to medium sculptured pieces in various media (stone, metal, wood, etc). I then came upon a splendid seated sculpture of a worthy dressed in medieval robes—he turned out to be Donald Mackay, 11th Lord Reay (of Reay Road fame and Governor of Bombay from 1885 to 1890). He built the famous Harbor Line route to encourage and facilitate cotton trade through the Ports of Bombay. This explains why his sculpture is still in situ and has not been relegated to some obscure sculpture graveyard in the city just because he happens to be a colonial!

I circled the statue and took pictures before I wandered into one of the adjoining buildings that houses the departments of metalwork and interior design. I still saw no sign of the Kipling area. That was when I saw a young girl (named Siddhi) coming towards me.  She looked like someone who could speak English. So next thing I did was stop and ask her if she knew where Kipling was born! Not only did she know it, but she offered to take me there herself. 

In the Former Kipling House:

And so it was that I crossed the building that teaches classes on Art (Paintings and Sculpture) and went on to the other side of the campus. It was she who informed me that Kipling wrote The Jungle Book in this house—it is something I will need to back check.  To the best of my (rather sketchy) knowledge, he was born here and lived here (raised by colorful Indian female ayahs) till the age of twelve—at which point, he was sent to school in England. I believe he also completed university in England (Cambridge?) before he returned to Bombay as an adult. I would like to review the finer points of his life.

By the time, we had reached the ‘bungalow’, I could see that it was far from a bungalow. It was a mansion. Three-storied, entirely built with a sturdy teak frame, characterized by a grand wraparound verandah, Gothic-style pointed windows and doors and understated embellishment.  The glorious mosaic floors on the outer terraces are still intact. Inside, the place is empty, but outside I found workmen hard at their craft—carpentry, masonry—as the building has been closed to visitors and is being refurbished before it reopens with much fanfare.  Siddhi told me that loads of foreign visitors come to this place and she is glad they are re-doing it. 

     In the front porch, there is a lovely bronze bust of Rudyard Kipling with one of the plaques that the British use on the homes of their eminent citizens in the UK that announce that someone of merit lived there. There is a round plaque saying that Rudyard’s father, John Lockwood Kipling, was the first principal of the School and a second rectangular plaque stating that Rudyard was born in this place. It was all highly atmospheric and well shaded by spreading fully-foliaged trees all around it. I took many pictures and posed in the porch besides the sculpture. The feelings of exhilaration that filled me as I stood on this spot are just hard to describe. I thought, Wouldn’t it it be nice to create a Literary Tour of the city of Bombay? This spot would feature, of course, as would Breach Candy where Salim Sinai was raised in Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children and Cusrow Bagh in Colaba where Robinson Mistry set his novels, especially Such a Long Journey, there and Byculla which the novelist Ashok Banker exploited in his novel Byculla Boy.  

     When we were done with the Kipling home, we sauntered back to the main building where Siddhi excused herself to go to class.  I wandered around and re-entered the lobby of the main building which houses classrooms that double as studios for teaching Painting and Sculpture. In the lobby, I found reproductions of a number of recognizable paintings hung at the very top of the walls close to the rafters—how on earth anyone could see or admire them at that height is anyone’s guess! There was Turner’s The Fighting Temeraire, two self-portraits of Rembrandt and a couple of other Renaissance works that I did not recognize.  Up the wide stone steps I went along the beautiful wrought-iron bannister and curving wooden handrail—beautiful elements of antiquated buildings that one does not find anymore—to arrive at the first floor where I found a miniature cast court.  There were full-size plaster casts of famous sculptures such as Venus de Milo by Leonardo da Vinci and Antonio Canova’s Perseus Sans the Head of the Medusa—which is normally seen with this sculpture.  There were also several Greek sculptures as found at the Louvre such as The Athlete, etc. Amazing!

      I then wandered into some of the classrooms and actually watched students at their easels sketching real live models—one was a very young man sitting sideways; another was an elderly man sitting and staring straight ahead.  There were vitrines filled with skeletons so that the students could study anatomy in the anatomical drawings they were executing. There was zero security and I walked in and out of their classrooms without anyone asking me any questions or even stopping to take any notice of me! In fact, the entire atmosphere in these classrooms is very casual indeed. I did not see a professor or teacher anywhere—the students seemed to be working independently. I enjoyed my little snoop into this school and was so glad I went there. 

On to Crawford Market:

     My next port of call was Crawford Market which is named after the city’s first Municipal Commissioner Arthur Crawford who took office in 1865.  Needless to say, in post-colonial times, the name has been changed to Mahatma Phule Market, but I do not know anyone who uses this name! If you have seen Empress Market in Karachi or the Natural History and Pitt-Rivers Museums in Oxford, you will know what this building looks like. It has a lovely turret which is topped by a clock—a clock-tower of sorts. John Lockwood Kipling designed the building as well as the drinking fountain in the main hall that was donated by the city’s well-known benefactor Sir Cowasji Jehangir (after whom the famous C.J.Hall opposite the Shivaji Museum is named). 

     I have to admit, somewhat ashamedly, that although I have passed by this building a hundred times through the years, I have never been inside. And I could have kicked myself. I have loved the covered markets in places like London (Spitalfields, for instance, or Covent Garden), Oxford and Leeds where the Victorian artistry and craftsmanship have charmed me endlessly.  And yet, here in my own city, there is a splendid covered market into which I had never strolled!! What was I thinking? As it turned out, it is also beautifully refurbished. It is bright, clean and airy and devoid of pigeons or their droppings.  The floor tiles gleam, the ceiling is freshly painted, there are giant fans that cool the place and vendors who keep their stalls tidy and very enticing. There were fruits (Yes, I did see the first of the Alphonso Mangoes!), veg, loads of chocolates (Quality Street boxes everywhere), dried fruit, nuts, confectionery, staples like dal and rice. You name it, you could buy it. I also noticed large groups of foreign tourists being led on walking tours by local tour guides who were telling them about the history of this incredibly large space. 

     Seriously, I was so thrilled I took this walk. Place after place, historical tidbit after historical tidbit thrilled me completely. 

Off for a Falooda to Badshah’s:

     I had been on my feet for about two hours by then and although the weather was perfect for an outdoor jaunt, I was ready to sit somewhere and have a cool drink.  And what better place than Badshah—the Irani Cold Drink House that has done roaring business from this same spot for decades? We were brought here for a special treat, a few times a year, by our parents when they came to Crawford Market to do Christmas shopping! I can remember being fascinated by the mountains of fresh fruit that decorate the front of the place and the twin mangoes that were hung at every table on the ground floor.  We always used to go up to the air-conditioned top floor and it was there that I headed, not the slightest bit embarrassed that I was alone. I asked for a table for one and proceeded immediately to order a falooda—drink of the Gods.  It is for very good reason that it is called a Royal Falooda. It comes in a tall glass—layered with vivid pink rose syrup at the bottom, cornflour noodles, plumped chia seeds (known as isabgool), milk and a big blob of vanilla ice-cream floating on the top. I did what my parents had taught me to do as a child: eat a bit of the ice-cream first, then use the long spoon to go deep into the bottom and stir the whole thing up. Wow! Was it delicious??!! I adored it then and I adore it now. At Rs. 95 (about a dollar and half) this is such a steal.  A few years ago, on a visit to Bombay, I had introduced my nephew Arav and my niece Anaya to this childhood treat and to this day, Arav still wants to return to Badshah’s when he is in Bombay!

     So there you have it! It was a fantastic walk and it ended in a really special way with a well-remembered treat from my childhood. That’s what’s so great about living in Bombay! At every turn, I am reminded of the child I once was or of the clueless adolescent I used to be. These reminders are poignant and embarrassing and amusing in turn. 

On to my Interview with Vijaya Mehta:

     It was about 3.30 by this time and I needed to find my way to the Bombay Gymkhana to keep my 4.30 pm appointment with Vijaya Mehta, doyen of the Marathi stage who has also acted in some English language plays over the years. I jumped into a bus, got off at Metro Cinema and walked along Cross Maidan to get to the entrance of the Bombay Gymkhana where our meeting was scheduled.

     I was there a little early (at 4.00 pm) so I sat to look at my phone and enjoy the colonial atmosphere of this charming place that overlooks the cricketing green where a large number of youngsters were at the nets;  but a few minutes later, Vijaya arrived with her husband Farokh, who had a meeting upstairs.     

     We settled down in a quiet air-conditioned part of the Gymkhana where she began to speak and in no time transported me back to Bombay of the 1930s and 1940s and 1950s—she is 84 years old—when she had first trained under the great Ibrahim Alkazi and come under the protection of our mutual friend, the late  poet Nissim Ezekiel, who had taught me English at the University of Bombay and became a dear friend of Llew and me. Vijaya was absolutely amazed about the number of people that she and I knew in common in the Arts (Roger Pereira, Sam Kerawala, etc) and asked me repeatedly how come I had kept such a low profile and had remained unknown. Best part of all, she told me that I was a fantastic interviewer, that I showed sensitivity and empathy and understanding, that my memory was phenomenal and that I was reminding her of aspects of her past life that she had not revisited in decades. Those compliments were like music to my ears!!! 

     By the end of the interview, after she had consumed a cappuccino and I had a fresh lemonade soda while we shared a plate of delectable chicken mayonnaise sandwiches, she had told me so much and reminded herself of what her early years as a performer were like. Her achievement is simply staggering.  And it is not surprising that she had been decorated with some of India’s best-known awards including the Padma Shree. Certainly, she is the most eminent performing artist I have interviewed so far and I was specially honored to have so much of her time. We seemed to hit it off really well and at the end, when Farokh’s meeting ended and he joined us, we took a bunch of photos together.

     Farokh and Vijaya Mehta gave me a lift in their chauffeur-driven car to Churchgate station from where I took a train (in peak hour rush—it was past 6.00 pm) and got home after a truly enlightening day.

No Word from Himanshu:

     On my way back, I texted Himanshu to find out where I stood with my computer, but he told me that only 230 GB of 1 TB had been downloaded so far and he could not interrupt it. So I would have to wait for another day. Oh well! As I said, apart from the fact that I cannot use my laptop, I have reconciled myself to the losses and the recovery of what I have found so far. I still am praying and hoping for the best—that my deleted files will still appear.  Let us hope I am correct. 
 I got home for a hot pot of lemony tea with just a few nuts as I had eaten sandwiches and enjoyed a falooda and needed to stay light. I watched some TV (The Sinner is getting really creepy now) but was too late for Mass. I made a call to Russel to find out how he was doing and as Dad had just come back from church, I spoke with him too. 

Then the Bombshell Struck!

     Just a little later, I got news about a Foot Over Bridge collapsing in the city. And guess what????It was the exact same bridge on which I had stood only a few hours previously! I was just beside myself. I simply could not believe what I was hearing. It had collapsed taking 6 lives and injuring about 40 people who were rushed to the nearby St. George’s Hospital. My God! My Guardian Angel was looking after me, that was for sure. It is amazing how close we come to death at different points in our lives. I was still reeling with shock when I decided to do some reading and go to bed as I suddenly felt deeply fatigued. 

     What a way to end the day! I thought of all those people who so suddenly had their lives snatched from them and of how, but for the Grace of God, I could have been one of them. What are the odds?? I have never, ever, been on that bridge. And yet I was on it—the one day that it would collapse and kill people. I am still reeling with the sense of the mysteries of happenstance. 

     Until tomorrow...      

 

Meeting Principal of Xavier's, Examining South Bombay Architecture and Dinner at The Fatty Bao

Saturday October 6, 2018
Bombay

Meeting Principal of Xavier's, Examining South Bombay's Architecture and Dinner at The Fatty Bao

     Namaste from Bombay!
     Today was wonderfully eventful! Not boring, not routine and not predictable. Enjoyable in every way.
     I awoke at 4.00 am today--yes, 4.00 am. I know! It is getting ridiculous how early I am waking, but just think of all the work I am managing to accomplish before 8.00 am! It really takes all the guilt out of goofing off for the rest of the day!
     So I attended to email first, and then reviewed the last few corrections that the publisher of my Goa book had carried out before I gave my final approval that it can go to the printers!! Yes! Finally, after two and half years, this book shall see the light of day.
     Next, I finalized a new grant proposal I have drafted for a new publishing grant for which I am applying and sent it off with a prayer on my lips. Fingers crossed now!
     Next, I corresponded with the organizers of the Hyderabad conference as I am still to find out if there will be a pick-up for me when I arrive at Hyderabad airport at the unearthly hour of 4.30 am--yes, Stupid Me went and made a booking for a 3.00 am flight from Bombay when I had intended to make it for a 3.00 pm flight! Still, we are all allowed an occasional goof-up. They said they were still working on the logistics and would let me know by tomorrow.
     Of course, there was a lot of email to respond to as my last newsletter about Russel had solicited a great deal of responses.  So many of my friends (who, otherwise, never send me a response to my newsletter) had sent me one this time.
    I washed at 7.30am, had a cup of coffee, dressed and left for my Dad's place to do Russel's dressing. He is keeping up his good spirits but reluctant to do the physiotherapy exercises which is a good indication to us that he does feel pain and discomfort when doing them. I  then decided to stay on and have breakfast with Dad as I would not be returning to his place for the rest of the day.  I had a load of things to do and had dinner plans for the evening.
     My breakfast was two scrambled eggs made for me by Dad's housekeeper Satyavati. Dad asked if I could stay longer to help him with some paperwork as his eyesight is too weak and he needs help. But I had a meeting at St. Xavier's College and had to leave. I told him I would return after Mass tomorrow to help him.
     Back home, I showered quickly, dressed and left at 9.00 am for my 10.30 am meeting with the new Principal of St. Xavier's College, Dr. Rajendra Shinde, who has just taken over and has made history as the first non-Catholic Principal of the college. It has now become fairly routine for me to jump into the 220 Bus from Perry Cross Road to Bandra Station, then jump into the train from Bandra station to either Marine Lines or Churchgate and then walk to my destination in downtown Bombay.
     A word about public transport for the benefit of my friend Prem Kishore (a regular and very faithful reader of my blog): Prem remembers public transport in India as being crowded with so much pushing and shoving. She wonders how I am up to the challenge of using buses and trains.  So here is why I use public transport with ease: In the 30 years that I (and Prem) have been expatriates (she, first in Dubai and then in California), India has undergone a massive economic upsurge.  The country is so upwardly mobile that middle-class people (such as I was when I lived in India) own their own transport--they have not just one car, but oftentimes two! (This explains the massive rise in traffic which, with the lack of infrastructure, is crippling). They do not drive themselves--they hire drivers on monthly salaries. For those who do not own cars and drivers, there is also a huge increase in the availability of auto rickshaws. People seem too busy to have the time to wait for buses anymore--they simply jump into a rickshaw if they can afford to take one by themselves.  For those who do not have very deep pockets but still do not want to wait for a bus or hire a rickshaw by themselves, there are the 'shared rickshaws'--three people get into the back of a rickshaw and share the fare. The fare from Perry Road (where I live) to Bandra Station, if you took a rickshaw by yourself would be Rs. 30. If you shared with two other passengers, each would pay the driver Rs. 10--which is exactly what my bus fare is! So why would you stand and wait for a bus? You would simply get into a rickshaw with two other passengers and scoot off.
     The end result is that the buses are usually empty--at least the ones along the routes I habitually use. I never wait for more than ten minutes for one. Women, the elderly (known as Senior Citizens) and the handicapped can board from the front of the bus. The way I see it, you are sitting in the same amount of traffic whether you are in a bus or a rickshaw--so I prefer to sit in a bus since I do not wish to 'share' a rickshaw with strangers.  It is so funny--the rickshaw drivers keep hovering around me, beeping on their horns to attract my attention in a bid to offer their ricks for my use or to urge me to share with two other passengers who also look hopeful that I will jump in.  They simply cannot figure out why someone like me (dressed in Western clothing and looking fairly well-off, compared to other bus passengers) would prefer to wait for a bus instead of hopping in with them!
     So, if you are not a snob--and God knows I am not one--and if you do not mind that you are riding in a bus with people of very low-income who might shout on their cell phones when they speak (yes, they all own a cell phone, no matter no poor they are!), and who stink a little bit (dealing with BO is my single biggest challenge in Bombay!), then you are absolutely fine in a bus.  I have always found a seat, have never been crushed and am often looked upon with great respect by the drivers and conductors because I am actually sharing bus space with the under-privileged and the downtrodden.  It is a very humbling experience and I cherish it daily.
     As for the trains, well, same thing.  Only low-income people use the second class train service.  Passengers in the first class are wealthier and less odorous! Male first class compartments are now so numerous (four of them on one train with just one Ladies First Class compartment) that I have always found a seat in the Gents First Class.  I often do not travel in the Ladies First Class as it is too empty and too scary to me--one never knows when one will be the only passenger in the compartment and when hoodlums might hop on to rob or molest one! It has been known to happen--which makes me wonder why women put themselves in such a position when there are Gents First Class compartments in which they can travel comfortably and without fear.
     So there you have it: I have become a truly Bombay Gal in the way I hop in and out of public transport--exactly as I did when I lived in London or Paris. I have no qualms about rubbing shoulders with the less well-endowed. I consider myself one of them--no better, no worse. This makes my commute quick, cheap and adventurous. I keep my wits about me at all times, hug my backpack close to me (to avoid being pick-pocketed) and dress cooly and modestly with very comfortable low-heeled sandals so that I can hurry along. So far, so good.  You can continue to wish me luck!
     So after that long digression, here is what the rest of my day was like:

At St. Xavier's College:
    I had made plans to meet my friend Nafisa at the entrance of St. Xavier's College at 10. 20 am--she and I had decided to take a Heritage Walk in the neighborhood. I arrived there at exactly 10.20--she had just reached. Together we made our way into the college and to the Principal's Office where I had my meeting at 10.30 am. Nafisa was completely taken by the ambience of the place and charmed by the architecture.  Like me, she has an especial fondness for historic buildings and she felt very much in her element as we moved from one quadrangle to the other in the glorious Gothic space.
     Prof. Dr. Rajendra Shinde saw me at about 11.00 am. We had a wonderfully productive meeting. I found him to be an approachable and very charming man, a botanist by training. As a Fulbrighter himself (from India to Washington DC, Philadelphia and New York, a few years ago), he was keen to make his college and its facilities available to me and actually asked me if there was anything he could do to facilitate my work. I was besides myself with joy. Unlike the previous Principal who was far from helpful, this man was actually offering to do whatever was in his power to help me accomplish my research goals.
     Naturally, I told him I would like office space. He immediately offered me one of the cubicles adjoining the library. He told me to go there and choose any one of them. He would then set it up with a desk, a fan and a few shelves to enable me to make it office-like. I was simply thrilled. In fact, he told me to look for Pearl Pastakia, my supervisor, and take a walk with her to the library to try to find something suitable.
     I have no words to describe how delighted I was to be working with this fellow-professional who treated me with such respect and courtesy. He also told me that St. Xavier's has just received a grant of 5 crores of rupees from the Indian government, part of which will be allocated for the development of post-graduate (PG) courses.  When I volunteered to help with curriculum design, he immediately invited me to design the PG course in English for the MA Program. I told him it would be my absolute pleasure. And so it came to pass that my services were solicited in creating a whole new MA Program in English at St. Xavier's College, Bombay.  I am going to have the best time designing four courses for each semester over a period of four semesters (two years). When I get back from Hyderabad, I shall get to work on this project. I feel very excited indeed.

Touring St. Xavier's College:
     Nafisa and I then toured the college. I was feeling very hungry by this time and we headed straight for the canteen which has the most reputed food among South Bombay colleges.  I ended up eating a scrumptious plate of dahi batata puri with a chocolate milk shake while Nafisa had sev batata puri and an orangeade. Over our lunch, we chalked out where we would go and what we would do with the rest of the morning.
    It was vilely hot.  October is sometimes thought to be worse than the month of May in India. The heat combined with humidity makes it a real challenge to stay out in the open.  We, therefore, decided to keep our route short. After taking wonderful pictures of St Xaviers' campus quadrangles themselves, we headed to the Chapel which I was seeing for the first time.  It had a huge statue of St. Francis Xavier inside and pretty stained glass windows.  We also saw the auditorium where exams were in progress.
     Next, I made my way to the gorgeous library with its terrific plaster work on the ceiling, its ancient saloon-style half glass swing doors that open each cubicle and its old teak chairs and tables.  The library was absolutely filled with students who seemed to be chatting rather than reading quietly. I found that rather odd.
     I walked speedily through the various cubicles and found two--one overlooked the quadrangle and became my fist choice--Cubicle 19. One overlooked a garden and became my second choice--Cubicle 9.  Let us hope that one of them will work out for me as an office.  I will be absolutely elated to have office space in this august century-old library. Seriously--it is privileges like this that I simply cannot sneeze at when I consider how exciting my academic career has been in varied countries around the world.
     I decided to email my cubicle choices to the Principal and off we went, Nafisa and myself, on our tour of Bombay.

The Municipal Corporation Building:
     Together with what was then known as VT or Victoria Terminus (now known as CST--Chatrapati Shivaji Terminus), the BMC or Bombay Municipal Corporation Building gives the area its distinctive imperialist ambience. The foundation stone for this present building was laid by Viceroy of India Lord Ripon in 1884 to the architectural design of one Frederick William Stevens who used a basic Gothic plan and elaborated upon it with Indian motifs such as lotus flowers. It is a strikingly tall building consisting of a central portion topped with a giant dome and twin spires that flank it, each topped by its own mini-dome. Sadly, the building is not open to tourism as it is still a working office in which the affairs of the entire city of Bombay are conducted by thousands of employees. Outside, the angel sculpted on the facade that overlooks the craziness of the traffic below from which a number of roads radiate is often photographed. There is also a lovely imposing black bronze sculpture of Sir Pherozeshah Mehta, one of the most eminent Bombay Parsees of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the first Indian Municipal Commissioner of Bombay in 1884 and, I say this with great pride, an alumnus of my wonderful college, Elphinstone College, from which he graduated in 1864.
     Because so many visitors used to stand in the middle of the road and dodge the scary traffic to take pictures, the authorities have thoughtfully constructed a viewing platform--this not only can be mounted to take pictures of this entire area safely, but it also presents visitors with an opportunity to pose against the backdrop of some of India's most recognizable structures. Needless to say, there were a lot of white and Oriental foreigners doing just this.
     If I might be permitted to wax nostalgic at this point, I should say that I remember being five years old and plying this area on the top deck of the lovely BEST red buses on which we used to be taken for joy rides by my parents.  I am old enough to remember trams plying these roads and riding in them--what a joy they were!  I used to adore their bells that rang as they approached every stop and as they left.  This is why I never fail to ride trams today in countries around the world--wherever I get a chance (Hong Kong, Vienna, Budapest Lisbon, for instance). I can also clearly remember how few were the cars on the road then--there were gharries or Victorias--horse-drawn carriages and lots of BEST buses and the few people that walked around could cross the broad road without so much as a tremor. I can clearly see those sights in my mind and as I contrast them with the noise, the traffic, the hundreds of people--maybe thousands--today, I am aghast.
     We took our lives in our hands and then crossed the road and entered the next building on our agenda, the Victoria Terminus.

Visiting the Victoria Terminus:
     I adore this building. I adore it so much that I have a framed portrait of it in my house based on a photograph of it taken in the late 1800s when it was brand new. Also the brain child of Frederick William Stevens, this sprawling Victorian Gothic edifice was built with no detail spared. Both inside and out, it simply stops one in one's tracks.
     I recall asking a friend of mine who had just returned from the UK, when I was about 13 years old,      what London was like.  His response? "You want to know what London is like? Go and stand outside VT and take in the scene: the grand old buildings, the red double-deckers, hundreds of people hurrying by to their offices--that is London right here in Bombay". Many years later, when I visited London for the first time, I discovered that he was not wrong.
     There are gargoyles all around the facade that carry rain water from the roof to the base, there is a huge plinth on which the sculpture of Victoria, once Empress of India, stood--it has been removed and relegated to a Sculpture Graveyard. Built in 1878, the building wears its age with grace and style. Recent attempts to refurbish it have worked, but on-going maintenance seems to be sparce.
      The station once had 'Retiring Rooms' where passengers could spend a night or two seeing Bombay, the glittering colonial show-piece city en route to other parts of India. I wonder whether passengers can still stay in these lodgings that were once beautifully run by the Railways exactly as the Retiring Rooms at Victoria Station in London were run. I have actually stayed in what is known as the Victoria Hotel which is the result of a brilliant conversion of the Retiring Rooms of that station into a very lovey modern hotel in London.
     Nafisa and I made our way into the Ticket Vestibule and were bowled over by its gorgeous design. The Gothic fan vaulting is decorated with gold painted stars. There used to be Victorian stained glass in the half-moons that top the stone walls--it is obvious that those have broken because very new stained glass panels have taken their place--the design of the replacement does not look Victorian at all. It looks too new and too modern.
    Further inside, past the Ticket Vestibule, you enter the main foyer where passengers wait until they make their way towards the platform where their trains are standing. This area is punctuated by wrought iron poles that are topped by ornate filigree-type decoration that is lacy and eye-catching. This area reminded me very much of Paddington or St. Pancras Station in London or the Gare du Nord in Paris. There was a bustling energy to the place that is a result of too many people in the city using the station. I kept thinking about the terrible tragedy of November 26, 2008, when so many scores of people had been shot by senseless terrorists in this very station when they were doing nothing more harmful that commuting.  
   
On to the General Post Office:
     Right outside the huge train terminal, to the left, is another grand building. This is the General Post Office of India (also know as the GPO). It was built in Indo-Saracenic style under the design of the British architect John Begg in 1904. Begg was influenced by one of India's greatest Mogul monuments--the Gol Gumbaz in Bijapur. He derived the main feature--the huge black basalt dome from this structure. It was completed in 1913. On a white marble plaque to the right of the main entrance is a commemorative monument to the fallen employees of the Great War--among whom, I have no doubt, were many Anglo-Indians. They ran British institutions in India such as the Railways, the Post and Telegraphs, Customs and Excise, etc.
     Nafisa and I entered the grand building. For both of us, it was the very first time in our lives that we were doing so. The main hall is round for it stands right beneath the imposing dome. The counters are still run, as they were in colonial days, behind grills from where stamps and other postal paraphernalia is dispensed. We walked around in such reverence for these old monuments that people began to stare at us. They probably wondered what we found so fascinating.
     When we'd had our fill of pictures, we left and emerged on what is known as Kabutar Khana.

The Pigeon Fountain:
     Kabutar Khana was erected in 1923--it then consisted of a fountain though which water flowed and an area in which birds--mainly pigeons--were fed. Hence Kabutar (Pigeons) Khana (Dining Area). People do not look upon pigeons today with the same affection as they did a century ago.  Their droppings are considered lethal to old buildings as they contain lime which is acidic and which corrodes their stone foundations. Hence, in London, it is now against the law to feed pigeons.  Someone once described them to me as "rodents of the sky" and I have never been able to wipe that image from my mind. They are considered flying vermin and in an attempt to discourage them, grills, nets and spikes are being attached to buildings in the West.
     In Bombay, on the other hand, no such restrictions stop people from throwing bushels of grain at the birds.  I was thinking as I watched them that so many human beings would be grateful for all that grain. It might make the difference to them between life and death.  In the same area, there is a sculpture of a man atop a ladder lighting the old gas lamps that once illuminated the city--before the advent of electricity, these lamp lighters went from street to street lighting gas lamps.
     By this point in our walk, we were exhausted as the heat was draining. It was time to hail a cab and get to the next port of call--the NCPA (National Center for the Performing Arts) where we wished to buy tickets to see the HD Live screening of Verdi's Aida from the Metropolitan Opera House in New York on October 23.  Both Nafisa and Shahnaz want to go with me and I am delighted to have them for company. I am thrilled to be introducing my friends to Opera for which I hope they will develop an abiding interest.

Off to the NCPA:
    With the heat beating down on us, we were relieved to enter the cool interiors of a cab that whisked us off to the NCPA at the southernmost tip of South Bombay. We found the Box Office and were soon selecting our tickets for Verdi's Aida. Coincidentally, Llew saw it yesterday at the auditorium of the Quick Center for the Arts at Fairfield University and he could not stop raving about it. He said that it was long--4 hours--but Anna Netrebko who sings the lead soprano role of Aida is stunning. We bought tickets for Rs. 500 each for Nafisa, Shahnaz and myself. At Rs. 500, it is a steal (less than 7 dollars). In the US, I pay no less than $25 for such tickets.
     It was time for us to part as Nafisa needed to be home by 2.00 pm. I showed her the bus stop outside the NCPA and within ten minutes, along came the 137 bus  that took us to Churchgate Station where I alighted.  She carried on to Flora Fountain from where she would take any number of buses to Byculla where she lives.
    I got a slow train and got off at Bandra from where I jumped into an empty 220 bus. They start at Bandra Station so you always get an empty bus at this point. I could not be luckier. Again, the bus had about 7 passengers boarding it when it arrived, but it waited for about ten minutes to fill up. I reached home and had a cold glass of water as that is all one needs on a sweltering day.
     I also finished my packing for Hyderabad and drafted my blog posts.

Off to Run an Errand:
     I had something to send off to Llew in New York and when I became aware of the fact that my friend Jon Ken who flies with Air-India would be operating a flight tonight, I asked if he would carry my documents. He said he would if I could drop them off at his place.  At 5.00 pm, I walked the fifteen minute trek to his place and dropped them off with his son.  I then got home and took a short nap before I got ready again for my dinner date with friends.

Off for Dinner to The Fatty Bao:
    My friends Anil and Ninaz invited me to their home for drinks before we went for dinner. I therefore walked another fifteen minutes to their lovely apartment. I feel so blessed that most of my friends live at a short walking distance from my studio. Apart from going into the city, I do not need to use any transport at all. My feet take me everywhere. And since I am not overdoing the walking, there are no signs of fatigue so far.
    Ninaz had not come back from visiting her relatives--so Anil offered me a delicious cold gin and tonic when I reached there--such a refreshing drink on that muggy day. About an hour later, Ninaz joined us and without losing any time, we went by car just a five minute drive away to The Fatty Bao, an Asian restaurant around the corner from their home. I am amazed to discover that if one is even ten minutes late for a dinner reservation, the table is given away.  We called to let them know we were running fifteen minutes late.
     The place was small, but very tastefully decorated and designed.  It felt like a place in Thailand with signs on the walls reading 'Phuket' and 'Chang-Mai'. The restaurant, however, was not strictly Thai. It was a fusion of all sorts of oriental flavors. I left the ordering to them as they said that everything was great. Finally, we ended up having iced  water (as we'd had drinks at home) with green mango and papaya salad for a starter with pork-filled bao (soft buns).  For mains, we chose the chicken and basil curry over steamed rice and shu-mai of bean paste with pomegranate--such unusual flavors perfectly well blended together. And dessert was a complex concoction of cinnamon ice-cream with a coffee flavored mousse. All quite wonderful indeed. I have to say that I am floored by the quality and variety of the food that is available in Bombay. Anil was telling me that Bandra has been voted as being among the fifty best suburbs the world! Fancy that! Ratings, apparently, are based on votes by the editors of the various Time Out magazines world-wide  I am not surprised. If you asses the number of eateries in this city and the kind of food they serve, you would be simply blown away. For the foodie, Bandra is Paradise and I am looking forward to many more forays into its culinary offerings.
     We took a rickshaw back home as Anil and Ninaz had sent their driver home. They dropped me off to my place and I simply washed and brushed and flossed my teeth, changed for bed and called it a night.
   See? I told you I had an incredible day!
   Until tomorrow...